


Another Life

by youknowmyname



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet Ending, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Ending Relationship, Gay, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Going to Hell, Inspired by Music, M/M, Post-Same As It Never Was, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youknowmyname/pseuds/youknowmyname
Summary: The year is 1993, closing into the end of the year. 34-year-old Oliver Goldstein is a critically acclaimed author and English professor at Yale University. He lives a humble life with his wife and two children in Connecticut. While celebrating Hanukkah, he receives a letter from his summer love, Elio Perlman. The message reflects on what their life could have been, along with the remarkable memories of that one Italian summer in the mid-eighties.( post call me your name )





	Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written for Call Me By Your Name, watching the movie on a plane ride on a Timothee Chalamet marathon and yes, crying next to an old man. The book also made me tear up as well, and I wanted to see if there was an alternate ending for both of them. I'm also coming back from a long fanfiction hiatus, so of course, this is going to be a hot mess. 
> 
> Also the "fanfiction-that-made-me-get-out-of-a-writers-block-and-have-a-mental breakdown-and-cry-and-sweat-and-bleed-and-pour-my-heart-and-soul-into-this-mess-" 
> 
> Not any trigger warnings. Heavy Angst though. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Carrie

Oliver hated the winter. He hated the frozen feel, constant layering, the snowfall-  
Almost everything! This year was going to be different from most years, actually enjoyable. Oliver was quite relieved that Charlene didn't drag him and the twins up to South Bristol, where it would've been much more brutal. South Bristol was beautiful, but the drive and weather were equally treacherous.

The Goldsteins lived a humble life in the prestigious town of Hartford, Connecticut. Charlene and Oliver were both professors; one at a high school and the other at college. In total they had six children; four being on four paws and two being on two paws. Due to their appropriate amount of land, all of there dogs were regal and huge. A German Shepard, Dalamation, St.Bernard, and Great Dame. The other children were eight-year-old twin girls, Gazelle and Roxy. Both of them were typical eight-year-olds; prolific and energetic. Everybody was happy and healthy.

After putting the girls to bed, Oliver headed to his study to finish grading papers. He thought the concept of homework was pointless and made the teacher and students life harder, but that was none of his business. It was quite a pain, especially confident that he works late and barely sees his daughters. But hopefully, as the years go on, then maybe Hanukkah will land around the same time Christmas is. A break!

Charlene was polite enough to fix his study. Organizing his books, dusting his file cabinet, and placing the mail on his desk. Setting the Scotch down and resting into his seat, he looked through his mail. Most of it was either junk, holiday cards, taxes, money hungry companies, and some other useless mail.

But as he got to the end of his mail, he choked on his scotch.

Quickly recovering, he put his glasses on, recognizing the writing. The address was from Carlisle, London. If you were taking a train from Edinburgh to London, then it was one of the first stops. Carlisle wasn't far from the Scottish and England border. It was messy and cursive, always placing a circle above the I. He knew that handwriting and that name. Elio Perlman.

Those memories flashed in his head. The three nights in Rome, The bike rides, the private intimacy-he remembered everything. Oliver mentally cursed at himself; shocked at the fact that it's been over a decade since that summer affair in the early eighties. He wasted no time in opening the letter and was greeted with the messy cursive handwriting he knew too well.

_Dearest Professor Goldstein,_

_As I write this letter, I'm sleeping on a hard bunk bed, on a train from Edinborough to London, my home of four years. My neighbor below me is snoring louder than a boar, distracting me from Of Mice And Men. Not to mention, they leave their belongings carelessly on the ground and never wash their hands after taking a piss-just as you did._

_This letter is not a vindictive counter-play on you. It's just a simple check-in. It's been almost a decade since we last saw (and touched). After you got married, I began my journey of traveling the world. I believe you heard of my father's sudden passing. His last wish had been for me to spread his ashes all over Europe, and I happily succeeded in his final request._

_I attended university over in Glasglow, studying historical musicology. It was my first time being away from home, which was exciting, but nerve-wracking. I would receive care-packages from Chiara and my mother and letters from Mariza, who I still cherish to this day._

_During those four years, and today, I always travel on a daily basis. One of my favorite cities is Geneva in Switerzland. Beautiful city; but the people are identical to the French. But when I traveled outside of Geneva and to a small seaside called Lucerne, reminding me those three enchanting nights in Rome._

_Until I was eighteen, the farthest I had gone was to Milan once when I was thirteen. By my 28th birthday, I'll have been to 24 countries. I still have to travel to the states and some parts of Asia, and Europe._

_While in my second year of University, Mariza mailed me a letter, talking about her life and studies in Anthropology. Along with a message, she sent me a package containing your breakout novel, Sunrise, and Set._

_It was an intriguing read! As I was having my tea, suddenly I was feeling depressed, reading that name once more. Oliver Goldstein in ebony italics. A man I once knew. A man that used to hold me in the face. A man that used to hold my gaze. A man who called me by my name._

_During those four years of college, I was bitter about your marriage. Anger fueled my body. A day never went by without me thinking of our summer affair; your hands entangled in my hair, our tongues entwined, and our moans._

_After reading the first chapter, I chuckled and teared up. It was quite a nostalgic and eerie book, reminding us of our summer affair. "A young bibliophile falls head over heels with her father's assistant in the humid summer in Italy in the mid-eighties." Ironic…_

Oliver gripped the paper tighter, his hand becoming shakey. His first story, Sunrise, and Sunset was based on this summer in Italy. Whenever he would write, he could just imagine Elio. His flawless porcelain skin, tangled and flowy ebony locks, beautiful sunflower eyes, and his bony build. He also remembered Elio as a sarcastic and self-loathing bibliophile.

_You were first true love, Oliver. I tried to move on from you, but your presence still lingered with me for a decade. After you left, I was a complete emotional wreck. For two weeks, I would lay in bed curled in a cocoon of quilts in a darkened room, mourning. I begged for Chiara to not wash your sheets for weeks; the smell of lavender and vanilla. Chiara also scolded me for leaving my room as a pig stock. The only reason I would leave my room is for school, food, and comfort from my parents. I never felt that love again._

_Over the years, I had my fair share of relationships with men and women. No matter how hard I search, I never was able to find the one. I could never love like you. No matter the bitterness, you always lingered in my thoughts. It had hit me on Hanukkah of 1983, I could never love again. That phone call was a grim reminder of you. You called me by your name. And I called you by yours. And then you were gone._

_Remember that conversation we had at your rehearsal dinner? It was a fantastic wedding. Both of you were gone by morning; sailing the Mediterranian islands for two weeks. As we embraced and looked into the starry night, we talked about what it could have been, in another life. Another life, what a dream for me. It's a wild fantasy, makes me tear up. As I leaned on your shoulder, I remember us laughing about an "another life."_

It seemed like Oliver was walking through a scrapbook. Oliver and Elio sat on top of a building in the midst of the night, looking at the stars in the sky. It was the last time both of the men truly embraced each other. It was nothing incredibly intimate; holding hands and small pecks. Both of them were slightly intoxicated, nostalgically talking about the past.

_The year would be 1993. You took me with you back to America. You and I would be living in a luxurious penthouse in the neighboorhood of Kensington, London. Before we would get married, we would travel from Asia and Europe and to America. You would have your dream job of being a professor in London, and I would be one of the best pianists in Europe. We would dine at the fanciest restaurants in Europe. Most of our clothes would be a designer. All of our children would be on four legs; 3 cats and two dogs. Every night you would come home with your suit on, and I would have my robe, and then you would enter me._

_I remember you grasping my finger slightly, looking at me with your ocean eyes. I looked at you with my sunflower orbs; holding our hands and gaze. Holding back the tears, I subtly smiled, "Another Life." You softly chuckled and repeated it. And then I faded into the darkness of reality itself._

_Life is lovely, isn't it?_

_It then hit me like an unsuspecting bullet; piercing the naive heart._

_Our relationship was unrealistic._

_It would almost never work out._

Oliver inhaled his tears back, his hands shaking as if he were outside in the blizzard. He didn't want to create an uproar in the household, especially with the dogs or Charlene. Life was just a game with a bittersweet ending. It pained him; making his legs as wobbly as noodles and surroundings blur out. Oliver was living his fullest, and Elio was living his lowest.

_You were a twenty-four year old with his life figured out, and I was seventeen, and I was still figuring my life out. For over a decade, I held anger inside of me and wished our lives would be that "another life." But it was just never going to happen._

_I didn't want to be the reason to why you couldn't pressure your dreams. I didn't want to be the downfall of your career. I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted what was best for you and me. And what was best for you is best for me._

_Maybe we will meet one day again, now gray and changed._  
_Until then, live your life to the fullest._

_In Another life,_  
_Elio_

Oliver inhaled his tears back, his hands shaking as if he were outside in the blizzard. He didn't want to create an uproar in the household, especially with the dogs or Charlene. Life was just a game with a bittersweet ending. It pained him; making his legs as wobbly as noodles and surroundings blur out. Oliver was living his fullest, and Elio was living his lowest.

He couldn't speak, see, feel, or do anything. He was utterly paralyzed with sorrow. It was a bittersweet sympathy for both of the men. Elio was correct, life is a game, fair or unfair. Who lives, who dies, or tells their story?

In this moment of weakness, Oliver placed the letter back onto his desk and removed his glasses, running a hand across his face. He leaned back into his chair and looked into the emotionless eyes at the wall bust; a red deer he hunted in Scotland over three years ago. It hung directly above their fireplace, a traditional hearth. Due to the hour in the night, it was quickly dying down. The remainder of the auburn blaze turned into a black abyss.

Words couldn't describe this feeling of pain. Oliver was so wrapped up in his own personal drama, never thinking much about Elio. He was busy with family work; his success over the decade. He didn't know if Elio was living an enjoyable life, mostly talking about the memories of that one summer.

Most people who would have a simple affair would forget and move on with there lives. That's what Oliver had done. That's what Elio could never do. The summer was beautiful but painful. What would another life be like?

For the next several minutes, Oliver silently sobbed at his workspace. He tried to stop it, but the tears that feel down his cheeks would not. Once he started about one thing, he began to cry about multiple things. If he could just see the darling boy once more. Look him in his face, hold this gaze, and call me by his na-

Suddenly, this thoughts became entrapped from the yelling down the hall. It was Charlene, calling for help with cleaning up the dishes. He couldn't comprehend what it was until she yelled it once more, louder and demanding. Oliver quickly wiped his face and took a deep inhale, pushing himself up from the chair.

His surroundings were not as blurry as they were several minutes ago. It was dim, only being lite by his lamp at his desk. As he walked towards the exit of his study and opened the doors, he took a gaze at the black abyss inside of the traditional hearth. It was a symbol of his relationship with Elio. Beautiful, but painful. But something also laid deep beneath the black abyss.

That was another life.


End file.
